


some say it's a blessing, some say a curse

by drippingcandie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love them, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, THAT BEING SAID, Tags May Change, Torture, Violence, hopefully a happy ending, mostly mockingjay inspired, they are learning to recover, they are very much in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingcandie/pseuds/drippingcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He has important information, Hamilton. They’re going to get it out of him one way or another.” Coming from Hercules, this makes his stomach flip. Hercules knows all sorts of stuff about getting information from the enemy. Knew all sorts of techniques to trick them into telling, knew how to torture them…</p><p>That was the moment that he started wishing John was dead.</p><p>Out of context, it didn’t sound so sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. est

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Hunger Games AU that doesn't take place in the canon THG universe. No characters from the Hunger Games are used, but the overall premise is the same. There is a rebellion and they have to retrieve Victors at the end of the second games.
> 
> I used pieces and bits from both the Annie/Finnick and Katniss/Peeta story line.
> 
> Fair warning to all readers: There are a few things that all play important roles in this story. Torture (not graphic but mentioned on multiple occasions), Assumed/ Mentioned Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Drug Mentions/Use.

“Alexander, take a break.”

 

Alexander had been sitting in communications all morning, back hunched and typing furiously. It’s what he had been doing for the past few weeks. He welcomed the distraction, or any distraction for that matter.

 

Eliza Schuyler didn’t agree. “You can’t sit here all day,” She says pointedly. “You’ll get in trouble for skipping your meals.” Alexander knows that she is right, she always has been since the moment he had met the woman. He turns around to face her, looking at her face be lit up by the glow that are given off by the computer screens in the dim room.

 

“What will they do, Eliza?” He says, a bad taste filling his mouth. “Send me to my bunk? Tell me I can’t work?”

 

She looks conflicted, fiddles with her hands and pushes her hair out of her face. Alex knows she doesn’t like being bombed with rhetorical questions. Alex does it anyway. “Just because you’re upset does not mean you have to take it out on-”

 

Alexander feels his face getting red. “Take it out on what? You? My work?” He’s beyond frustrated. Eliza doesn’t understand how hard it is. Eliza can eat her meals, teach the children at her assigned job, sleep in her small bunk, spend the mandatory downtime with her sisters.

 

“I’m not pretending to know, Alexander.” She tries desperately. “But please come down to dinner.”

 

“Then you would stay out of my affairs,” He huffs, petulant like a child. “You don’t understand, no matter how wonderful of a woman you are.”

 

“Washington wouldn’t want one of his best men dropping dead due to overworking himself.” She always knows how to get to him. She sounds more and more like John as the day passes, like she is filling up the spaces that he left empty. He shakes his head at the intrusive thought.

 

Eliza is a good friend. Ever since he came to the hell hole that is District 13, she was there for him. She told him all sorts of things about the place, answered all his questions even if she wasn’t supposed to. Her dad was sort of a hero around the underground complex, and her plus her two sisters knew a lot more than she let on.

 

Alexander was convinced she was the best woman to ever exist. Eliza was a good listener. He felt bad for complaining to her after he realized she had never seen the outside, had lived here all her life.

 

He told her all about John and their life back in District 10. How they lived in Victor’s Village together.

 

“I will not drop dead.” His voice choked on the last word. “I know when to stop.” He turned back around in his seat and began typing again, trying to compose himself.. “I will be in bed at curfew if that is what you’re concerned about. Now go along. You wouldn’t want to get in trouble for missing your meals now, would you Miss Schuyler?”

 

Eliza looks taken aback by the toxicity in his voice, brown doe eyes wide with surprise. Her jaw drops a little as if she is going to say something else. “Good day, Mr. Hamilton.” She leaves the room without another glance.

 

Alexander feels sick to his stomach.

 

It’s not from lack of food like Eliza thinks though. It’s this feeling, this constant sick feeling. Sometimes, when the memories flare up, it hits him like a train.

 

* * *

 

He wishes he could have told John where he was going before the train left. With John on it. The last damn time he had seen John in person was from the window of a train. That always sits badly with him.

 

District 13 really wasn’t part of the plan until they corresponded with him, asked him if he would come and help them with communications. They tried everything. Flattery, bribing, telling him that he could make a real difference. None of it really swayed him. Alexander wanted to be sitting in the living room when John got home. If he got home. That’s what he had told them.

 

“We can promise his return,” That’s what Washington had told him directly. “If we have your help, we can ensure him and everyone in that arena returns safely.”

 

How did everyone know how to get under his skin? It bothered him that he could be so easily persuaded if just given the right push. He’d fight and fight, but at the end of the day? When it came to something so dear to him, he would drop all of his ideals.

 

All of this ultimately lead him to sitting in communications, screens filling up the walls with all the different angles of the Games this year, showing every previous Victors fighting for their lives again. His eyes always wandered back to John’s screen where he was up in a tree by himself.

 

John was usually ready to fight. They went to bars sometimes back home because they were lucky (“Not lucky,” John would say) that they could afford that luxury. After one pint, John would be fighting someone twice his size. Not in the arena though. At least not this time around.

 

Alex knew John played it safe because he had something to lose. He wasn’t all impulses, he loved him, and John knew that Alexander couldn’t go on without him and vice versa. John was impo-

 

His thoughts are cut off by the screens going static, the sound filling

 

“What’s happening?” He shouted. “Where did they go?” Why was everyone so calm? He had a thousand questions racing through his head. Alex had never been one to have a level head on his shoulders, was very abrasive, asked far too many questions, and John used to tell him that he was non-stop.

 

A hand places itself on his shoulder. “ _Mon ami,”_ It’s Lafayette. He knows because that man always speaks in one of the dead languages that Alex didn’t have the time to pick up. “That was the plan.”

 

“What plan?” Alexander responds a little dumbly.

 

“Maybe it would’ve been more clear if you hadn’t been watching _ta cherie_ so intently.” Lafayette teases. “The hovercrafts are retrieving the victors as we speak. Bringing them here.”

 

Something akin to relief floods Alexander, but he still has all that energy from being angry. John would be with him here, in District 13, where it was safe. At least, that’s the impression that he was under. It wouldn’t be later that day until he found out how wrong he was.

 

* * *

 

He spends most of his time thinking about how wrong he is.

 

Alexander Hamilton from District 10 of Panem was never wrong. He worked hard, was at the top of his class in school, went from working in fields to working in labs and offices. Alexander Hamilton who subsided in District 13 was another story. Was there anything he hadn’t been wrong about in this damned place?

 

Mandatory family time is the worst because it has to be spent in the bunks. Alexander doesn’t have any family, but he can imagine what it would be like if John was there. They’d sit at the tiny table and Alex would read. John would probably be rolling bandages or mending torn clothes. He was always really good at stuff like that. Tedious stuff with his hands. He said it had distracted him.

 

Alex wishes he was distracted.

 

The white walls kind of remind him of haziness, long days with depression. Which makes him think of John. He didn’t even know depression was a think before he met John, just thought that’s how life was. The white reminds him of life before John and now he is trying to live life after him.

 

 _Not after him_ , would be what Eliza would say. Everyone is convinced that he is still out there, that the Capitol had snatched him up from the arena. Alexander says no to that. If it were true, John would be feeling so much pain. Constantly. Sometimes Alexander thought that it was all John felt. Alex likes to think John is dead so his pain would stop.

 

Alex doesn’t stare at the wall after that. He flips over in his bed and opts to shove his face in the pillow. The faux darkness that is provides is somewhat soothing. The sheets don’t smell like anything, there’s no noises except for when he slightly shifts,

 

He wishes he could get out of this damned bunk and do work. He wishes that Washington would call some state of emergency, wishes that they had plans to make. This is a damned revolution, they’re overthrowing a damned government. Why is he sitting here like stagnant pond water?

 

Pond water. John always liked to drag Alex away from his writing and go to the field, stick his feet in the water that the cows drank from. Laugh, so carefree, as Alex wrinkled his nose. Alex never liked cattle all that much or being near them. He had to work around them his whole life. John had privileges before _it_ happened. John said that instead of the Games. John said that because he didn’t want to think about it.

 

Alex rolls back over to face the ceiling. Sometimes he wishes that his world had ended long ago. Sometimes he wishes the bombing had taken all of District 13 with it. Sometimes he wishes it would all come crumbling down around him.

 

* * *

 

Alexander remembers when his world came crumbling down around him.

 

Lafayette was scolded for telling him, but Alexander was glad he did. Alex was glad that someone here trusted him enough to tell him something. He defended Lafayette because he thought it was the right thing to do. At the time it was. This was the start of Alexander’s wrong streak.

 

“Alexander,” Angelica set a hand on his shoulder, making him jump a bit. He was finally taking a break and eating in the dining hall.

 

After the initial loss of connection among the machines, people started getting to work. Lafayette told him to sit out for this one since he wasn’t exactly prepared for the work they were doing. “Yes Angelica?” He pushed his food around his plate, figures she will sit next to him.

 

“They need you down at communications.” In the week he had known Angelica, she was never nervous. Now the aura seemed to radiate off of her. He raised his eyebrows but complied, getting up and taking care of his food waste.

 

Angelica really did want him to hurry. She ushered him down the halls until they came to the door.

 

Communications was not the orderly place he had left an hour ago. There was chaos, shouting, tension. It riddled the air and made Alexander uncomfortable. He recognizes a few faces. Lafayette had never looked so frustrated, Alex was pretty sure. Angelica lead him past all the chaos though, took him to the back conference room.

 

Martha Washington sits at the table with her head in her hands. George is talking to Hercules at the screen in front of the room. They both go silent when they see that Alexander is here.

 

“Son,” Washington had apprehension in his voice, and when Alexander looks back on it now he definitely should’ve known. Alexander gives Washington a look for the endearment. Son, he was not Washington’s son. Washington doesn’t apologize. “There were some complications.”

 

“Complications.” He echoes. It doesn’t really click in his head. Complications with what? Probably the latest work he’s turned in. Maybe his orders didn’t get through over in the warehouse.

 

“It was all a misunderstanding, apparently. We got the main group out safely-”

 

That didn’t make sense. Nothing about his job had to do with safety of other. He wrote public service announcements. He sent out orders to meager District 13 branches. “Can I ask exactly what there were complications with, sir?”

 

Washington gives him a forlorn look. “With extracting the Victors from the arena.” It takes Alexander another moment, like everything has slowed down. Like the world has come to some dramatic halt. In reality, it’s still spinning and time is still going.

 

“And you brought me here to tell me that because John is coming home and a few got left behind?” He says hopefully. “That you’ll need me to help with the operation to get the rest of them out.” Alexander decides to be as concise as possible, to leave no blanks left unfilled. That’s exactly what Washington wants him to do.

 

“Hamilton, I wish I could say that was the case.” George starts, adjusting the collar of his grey, District 13 issued, uniform. “We couldn’t get him out. He wasn’t at the pickup site.”

 

Hercules steps in. “We had a plan. He didn’t stick to it, man.” It’s almost laughable at how casual he is with everything he does. In their little pod of people (that Alexander had aqquainted himself with) Hercules was a very reasonable figure. Like parental, almost. Alexander understood how he helped Washington bridge the gap between young and old. But right now, what he was saying made Alexander’s head spin.

 

“Who was at the pickup site? What do you mean he didn’t follow the plan?” He says almost stubbornly. “Who’s he?”

 

“John. It was an acc-”

 

“An accident!” Hamilton throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “You left him in there on accident. What’s he gonna do in there? How’s he going to fend for himself, Washington? Just go back and get him. It’s not that hard to do. You had a hovercraft do it the first time!” The energy that is radiating off him is insurmountable.

 

“He’s not stranded in there, Alexander.” Hercules tries to not budge at the venom behind Alex’s word.

 

Washington and Hercules seem to be tag teaming this whole handling Alexander ordeal. “He was picked up by another hovercraft. One of the Capitol ones.” Alexander feels sick to his stomach, and he thought it couldn’t get worse. Washington continues. “He was supposed to be with the other Victors. He wasn’t high profile so we weren’t going to worry. He didn’t comply like he said he would.” It’s true. John isn’t that popular in the Capitol. He’s handsome, but he isn’t like the other ones. After his initial win, the President had casted him off.

 

John. Always the martyr. He was stubborn enough to isolate himself, avoiding risk at all cost so he could, in the end, do what really? Be captured. Captured by the Capitol. Taken away from Alexander.

 

“He has important information, Hamilton. They’re going to get it out of him one way or another.” Coming from Hercules, this makes his stomach flip. Hercules knows all sorts of stuff about getting information from the enemy. Knew all sorts of techniques to trick them into telling, knew how to torture them…

 

That was the moment that he started wishing John was dead.

 

Out of context, it didn’t sound so sweet.

 


	2. pro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is sent down to medical.
> 
> Is he due for a physical? He doesn't think he is.
> 
> He's definitely not due for a physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter include: threat of medicinal drug use
> 
> here's a happy chapter!! it's only downhill from here.

Alexander spends the forty third day of John being gone in self pity.

 

Forty three days is a very long time to be gone. That was longer than John had been gone for his Games. Alexander remembers how long he was gone for that one. Twenty three if he doesn’t include the Victory Tour. It almost settles his mind that he can recall facts like that from five years ago.

 

He climbs out of bed with that one small piece of satisfaction. Days may pass but he is still sharp. Wrong, but can recall times he was right. At least something feels familiar. 

 

It’s getting easier to brush his teeth, pull back his hair, put on his uniform in the morning. Alex hates to admit it, but it’s true. Peggy always told him that you had to do something seven times for it to become a habit. Maybe it had been in his nature since week two.

 

He tidies up the few books that sit on the small table in his room. This bunk wasn’t made for one person, it was made for two. They gave it to him only because they thought someone would be joining him.

 

But he is alone.

 

Alex shakes that thought from his head, because god dammit. He cannot keep going on like this. He has to keep pushing through for himself, for John, for wherever John may be.

 

He goes to breakfast. Eliza is surprised to see him there. She should be surprised. Alex never went to breakfast. He was always the first at communications to start working and the last to stop. Alex sits next to Lafayette and Hercules because they’re familiar faces. And they don’t judge or pressure him.

 

Alexander is glad they don’t talk about work. He has been taken away from all operatives that involve actual rebellion. He hasn’t been writing Molly Pitcher’s PSA’s, but he’s been writing up her schedule. He hasn’t been sending out equipment to military men, but he’s been ordering that they’re brought to the delivery room.

 

He really doesn’t make decisions all that much.

 

Alex listens to what his pair of friends talk about. Sort of. It’s distant and in the background. He thinks more about Molly Pitcher, the most recent Victor from Distant 12. Alex has heard a lot of rumors about her and her  _ lover boy _ William Hayes. He’s never talked to her, doesn’t feel like he’s worthy.

 

John always told Alex that he hated being put on a pedestal. He just wanted to be treated like a normal person.  Always hated when people would gawk at the two of them when he went out. Said Alex wouldn’t get it, said that Alex had already bought into the mob mentality. Alex detested that and said that it wasn’t true. Realizing he doesn’t have the guts to talk to Molly Pitcher, a seventeen year old girl, proves John’s point.

 

“Alex?” Hercules has only eaten about half of his porridge that they were given this morning. “You want the rest of this?”

 

Alexander does. He really does but as of late he has had trouble voicing exactly what he wants. He shrugs instead, continues to eat his own food. Hercules sighs and tries to sneakily scrape the remainder of his food into Alex’s own bowl.

 

“Thanks Hercules.” Alex says thoughtfully. The boys were high up on the ladder, but they never minded breaking a rule or two.

 

The chatting continues. They go on about something else Alex has no interest in. He laughs a bit regardless, cherishes the moment. The trio soon finish and take care of their trays before heading to their assigned posts.

 

\--

 

Alex often sits at tables and doesn’t say anything, just listening intently.

 

He remembers the turn of the year feast that John Laurens invited him to when they were back in school. Sixteen, they were both sixteen. It was three months before Reaping Day. 

 

John’s whole family showed up to the feast, he remembers meeting Marty and Henry Jr. He remembers how John told him about how much he missed his Ma. He remembers Mr. Laurens getting red in the face and backhanding John right at the table.

 

Alex erased why from his memory though. Henry Laurens was a scary man, but a good mayor for District 10. He kept things in line. He was good at giving addresses. Henry was a good politician but a bad father. There’s a lot of things he had learned about that man over the years and wanted to scream when he heard people paint him as a saint.

 

Marty had handed him the mashed potatoes that night as John conversed with his father. Alex had politely thanked her.

 

“No problem.” She grinned. Marty was really growing up, she was thirteen at the time. She was a brave girl though. He tried not to be jealous of all the privelege these folks had. Thought about how when he goes home at night, the people are crammed into that tiny house for the field workers, all of them will be starving.

 

The conversation between Henry Laurens and John had grown far more hushed, a little more heated.

“Alexander!” Little arms flew up from across the table. “I lost a tooth the other day.” Henry Jr. is a lovely little boy.

 

“That’s not normal, boy.” He overhears from the conversation right next to him. That’s right. Sometimes he forgets people like him and John shouldn’t exist. Usually, John tells him, this kind of talk is not dinner table appropriate. 

 

“Henry, that’s wonderful. You should put it under your pillow.” Henry Jr. scrunches up his nose at the proposition. Alexander has known the Laurens’ for a while, ever since he met John at school a few years ago when they moved up to learn with the older kids. He nudges John, tells him to take the mashed potatoes. John thanks him and goes back to his conversation.

 

Once the mashed potatoes make their spot to the center of the table, the meat goes around. Only the finest for the mayor of District 10. It’s probably the best quality meat he’s seen in his whole life, but Alex assumes it’s because he spends more time with the cattle when they’re alive.

 

The plate gets to him when the sound rings out through the kitchen. John quickly excuses himself from the table, covering one side of his face with both hands. 

 

Alexander doesn’t hesitate to follow.

 

“I’ve ruined it.” John kicks over the wastebasket in his room. “I’ve ruined the whole damn dinner.” Alexander doesn’t say anything, just intends to listen. 

 

Alexander is good at listening.

 

\---

 

Alexander is not good at listening.

 

It’s three against one right now and the odds aren’t really in his favor. They’re standing in the middle of communications and Washington is trying to do what?

 

“Go back to your bunk, Hamilton.” Lafayette is basically pleading. It’s very out of character for him, very abnormal. Washington had given him the day off. Alexander didn’t want a day off. He wanted to work as a distraction. Why wouldn’t Washington let him work?   
  


“If you don’t leave, I’m calling Peggy.” Hercules says it in a somewhat threatening manner. Alexander knows what that means. Herc has had to call Peggy, who works down in medical, before. Alexander knows he doesn’t like being sedated, doesn’t like the feeling or the time he loses. Regardless, he stands his ground.

 

Herc isn’t the one to page Peggy in. Washington is, but she comes to communications just as fast as she normally would.

 

“Alexander,” She sighs. “We don’t have to do this. Just come to your bunk with me.” Peggy has her kit in one hand and pats Alexander on the back with the other. He knows they don’t have to do this and he so desperately wants to stand his ground.

 

Alexander sighs regardless and lets Peggy lead him back to his bunk.

 

She rattles off about how medical is busy that day as they walk down the hall. Rattles off how the operative today is very important, realizes her mistake, then desperately goes on about how exhaustion can affect the body.

 

“You don’t have to tell me again.” He says exasperatedly.

 

“It’s important, you know.” She says as if it’s her job. Alexander knows it it. “Not getting enough sleeps shortens your lifespan and makes you more irritable. I just thought it was your personality at first.”

 

He laughs at that one as they stop at the door of his bunk. They go inside and he lays down in bed above the covers. Peggy talks some more, she really does  He thinks he’s about to doze off  when a loud beep emits from her pager. 

 

“Dammit,” She mutters and shuffles to a standing position. “I’ll be back to check on you Alexander. Don’t move.” Peggy leaves without another word and Alexander watches as the door closes behind her. He goes back to staring at the ceiling and trying to clear his mind of any thoughts.

 

Sleep doesn’t come.

 

\---

 

A knock on the door snaps him out of his reverie a few hours later.

 

“You’re wanted down at medical, Mr. Hamilton.”

 

He has never been down to medical on his own whim before. The only times had been when he was panicking, unable to hold his own, and had to be sedated. He hated the District 13 medical with his entire existence. It was better than the one back in District 10, and he’s glad the people that wanted that help got it. On the other hand, he wanted nothing to do with it.

 

Alexander leaves his bunk and by time he does, whoever was outside the door has left. That’s fine. He will walk down there by himself. He knows the way. It’s a nice leisurely stroll, some exercise that he probably needed. 

 

Medical turns out to be the organized chaos that it always is. Except worse. Alexander had never seen so many nurses at once. He tries to stop one, she takes one look at him and points down the hallway past some swinging double doors. She didn’t give him any words before she went back.

 

The walk feels like an eternity. Maybe he is due for a checkup? He hadn’t had one except for his initial physical when he arrived.

 

It turns out he isn’t due for a checkup.

 

He thought the front room had been chaotic, but this room was far worse. He could distinctly hear someone yelling about vitals for Hayes. Hayes. That was Molly Pitcher’s boy. Molly’s boy was captured by the Capitol  in the arena. John was also captured by--

 

“Alexander!” 

 

The cry of a familiar voice echoes around in his brain and for a second? Alexander thinks he’s imagining it. He’s not thought. John Laurens is here in the flesh, in all his sunshine and glory. The man yelling about John ripping out his IV is drowned out by the sheer happiness Alex feels. John runs into him as if he’s a brick wall.

 

From what Alexander can tell, John is the same. His ears still stick out a little too far and his freckles are still prominent. He still towers a few inches over Alex. His hair makes it look as if he’s just done bathing, it hangs loosely around his shoulders and makes his hospital gown a little damp.

 

John is the same and John is back. In his arms. Is Alex is shock? Is he crying?

 

“Are you not happy to see me, Alexander?” John has pulled back from their embrace. Now that was different. John’s voice. Kind of scratchy like he had been crying, detached and clinical as if he had never been warm before.

 

He squeezes John tight around his middle, can even feel his, knows he’s in the happiest place in the world. John is home. John is here. John is has been to hell and had to be ripped from the Devil’s grip to be returned to him. Alex is forever grateful.

 

“Baby girl,” Alex whispers into John’s neck. “Missed you so much. Been so long since I’ve seen you.” If there were any tense muscles in John’s body, Alexander feels them melt away as the man keens. 

 

A nurse comes over to pull John away, presumably to pull him back to his bed. Alexander expects John to whine to get his way, it would be a very adorable John-like thing to do. John does not whine. John growls, bares his teeth for the nurse. He does it in quite an animalistic fashion. Alexander tries not to look surprised.

 

The nurse backs up, turns around to work on something else. The ring of people around them have dispersed a little. They stand in the middle of medical on day forty three and hold each other.

 

John gets his way.

 

\---

 

John gets his way when it comes to rooming arrangements.

 

Alexander and him are not married, but then again, Alexander had never seen two men in District 13 married before. They should not be sharing quarters under any circumstance. And Alex should be at work.

 

Alexander has persuasion skills. The second John had returned, he did everything he could to state his case to Washington. He dug up old scientific studies, recommendations from medical, anything. Looking back, he probably didn’t have to do anything but ask.

 

Alexander lets John sleep near the window, the side of the bed away from the wall. 

 

“Alexander.” John doesn’t sing it out, just lets it fall flat as he starts wrapping up bandages. Peggy appreciates the help, Alex knew John would like doing it. Some things never change.

 

“What is it, baby girl?”

 

“Did you miss me?” John asked as his fingers went around and around and around. There was no grin on his face, but Alex could hear a smile in his voice.

 

“Yes.” Alex answered. It was a question John had asked a lot. They had been dancing around each other, that’s what it felt like. Alexander gave John time to settle. It just wasn’t happening. He tried changing up his answers, but if he wasn’t direct then John got terribly confused. “Yes, ‘course I did. Missed you so much.”

 

“Thank you.” John says ever so politely, like he did when sitting at his father’s table. Alexander continues writing and only looks up when John moves his chair. He is no longer sitting across from Alexander, but right next to him.

 

Before going back to his writings, he lays out his left hand in front of John so he can take it. He does, it’s hesitant. Alex lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware that he was holding.

 

John grins like he is in front of a camera. Alex gives his warmest smile in return. Progress, he thinks. Progress. John halts progress on his thumb twiddling so he can hold hands with Alex. John obviously values Alex above some measly bandages.

  
  


Progress, Alex thinks, they’ll get through this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr @amourlaurens now! come shout at me!

**Author's Note:**

> come send me prompts/shout at me on tumblr @anoldsong


End file.
